


The Price of Prada

by PoisonedPrada



Category: Carol (2015), The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Devil Wears Prada Fusion, Devil Wears Prada References, Established Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, F/F, Inspired by The Devil Wears Prada, Mentioned Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, Mirandy Bingo, Mirandy Week, Mirandy Year of Fun & Frolics, POV Andrea Sachs, Pre Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs, Pregnant Andrea Sachs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-08-28 09:35:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonedPrada/pseuds/PoisonedPrada
Summary: A 1950's era theme love affair. Miranda is married but divorcing. Her husband tries to take the twins away as she realizes how much she loves Andrea. Will it have the imagined ending, will it succumb to the norms of it's time or will they survive?





	1. Meet cute

I was surprised she called at all, I didn’t even know she’d know who I was. I had only sent back her gloves out of some misguided loyalty. She was a customer and we all look out for customers. I told myself that as I headed to meet her for lunch. I wasn’t sure why, or what had prompted me to agree. We had nothing in common, she was older, prettier, richer. She was what I would never be and yet I wanted to hear her voice again.  
“Andrea,” she said velvet soft notes dropping on the booth as she slid in. I smiled, she was magnificent. Dressed in a dark green dress suit and a matching hat, taking off her gloves against the chilly New York air.  
“Andrea Sachs,” I corrected her.  
“What an odd name,” she ponders and adds, “Miranda Priestly.”  
I smiled, “that’s beautiful.”  
“I wanted to thank you,” she said.  
“No thanks needed, did you get the toys yet?” I asked.  
She nodded, “yes the twins will love them.”  
She smiled again, “and you? What are your holiday plans?”  
The waiter arrives, “I’ll have a vodka martini and asparagus soup.”  
“And you?” the waiter asks, “I’ll have the same.”  
I had never been to a restaurant like this one, with a woman like her. She belonged so something else, wealth of course. She was what Nate called the New York elite, but I thought she was intriguing. I ordered what she ordered because I had no idea how to pronounce half the items on the menu.  
We were playing at something but I couldn’t tell what. She offered me a cigarette, I accepted. Her styled hair curled softly under her hat and she was hard to take my eyes off.  
“Would you like to come visit me next weekend?”  
“Sure,” I say and just like that it was settled. We were friends of some sort. The beautiful woman from the store, lived in townhome in the most expensive part of Manhattan, her foyer shone with perfect chandeliers and as we approached the living room two flamboyant red heads bounced up at her.  
“mommy, you’re home!”  
She laughed. The girls laughed and turned to me.  
“Hello,” they said in unison, “I’m Caroline and this is Cassidy. I’m older.”  
I smiled bending down to reach their height, their eyes resembled Miranda’s shape but they were green and their face seemed to mirror her high cheekbones.  
“Hello,” I said to them. Suddenly I had become shy, weary of these two small beings that knew the woman next to them better than anyone.  
“Let’s put up the tree,” Miranda suddenly says and I am somewhat shocked by the large tree that sits in the middle of the living room, it’s beautiful, magnificent and I snap a picture of Miranda looking up at it. If she notices she doesn’t say a thing, she simply allows the maid to drop of the boxes of ornaments and the twins to start unpacking as I brew some tea.


	2. All the lights

The lights on the tree were my favorite things about the holidays. There was a chaotic magic to them, a nostalgia, a dream like quality.   
“Do you like them?” she asks as I stand there mesmerized.  
I nod  
It’s late, the twins have gone off to sleep, and she is now sitting down putting up the train set she bought at the store where I work.  
There is a glass of wine in my hand, a deep red blend that I had never tried before. It isn’t like the sweet wine we drink at home, and only on special holidays.  
“What do you do?” she ask.  
“What do you mean?” I answer confused, she stands up and comes next to me. She looks at me, her gaze lingers. For a moment, it is almost the way Nate looks at me before we make love. It’s longing and desperate. I feel the need to reach out for her hand. I don’t.  
The lights reflect in her eyes, it gives her a beautiful glow. She’s gorgeous, blue eyes like the snowflakes that won’t take long to fall in the city.   
“What do you want to do with your life?” she asks breaking the gaze.  
“Oh well, I ….” I stutter, “I want to be a journalist.”  
“Oh, a journalist. Is there women journalists?” she asks. It is an honest question.  
“A few,” I say.  
“That is a noble cause, reporting the news,” she says and it sounds sarcastic. I’m not sure.  
I nod.   
“And you? What do you do?” I ask.  
She smiles, “I am the head of a multinational publishing house,” she offers.  
I can’t help but open my mouth.  
“Well, my husband heads it,” she clarifies.   
“Oh,” I say.  
“He took over after my father died, my father owned it.”  
“You must be very proud of your husband?” I ask.  
She shakes her head, “we’re divorcing.”  
“I’m sorry,” I say.  
“Don’t be. I get the company back. The board is afraid, they think a woman won’t know what to do. Can you imagine that?” her smile is contagious, it’s gracious and serious at the same time.  
“no, no I can’t. I can’t imagine you not being great at anything.”  
Again the silence and the gaze and the invisible string that ties us together.  
“I turn to the lights and the tree, “You have a piano?”   
She raises an eyebrow, “Yes my mother used to play.”  
“And you don’t,” I ask.  
She shakes her head.  
I get up, lift the perfect black top to the piano. It is the finest money can buy, I’m afraid to touch it. The note is as clear as day. I play a soft holiday song, ‘have yourself a merry little Christmas.’  
It’s fitting for this night.   
“It’s late,” I say.  
“Let me drive you down to the train station”, her hands trace my shoulder lightly. It is an in between didn’t meant to and a sigh. I feel my heart skip a beat.   
“I’ll take a cab, I don’t want you to leave the twins,” I say.  
She seems to think it over and ultimately calls a cab. It’s the middle of the night by the time I get back to my room. The landlady looks at me like I’m a sinner. I like spending time with her, she doesn’t call back for a whole week. Then I call her, I want to wish her a merry Christmas.  
“Andrea?” she whispers into the phone. It’s almost like a sigh, a plea, a plea for me to hold her. I know what I’m thinking is crazy, but I can’t be wrong can I?  
“Miranda,” I say it back just the same way.   
“I wanted to …” I stop. I wanted to wish her merry Christmas, but that is not what I want to whisper into the phone.  
“What do you want?” she asks. A loaded question. The outcome of that answer is endless.  
“I wanted to tell you … to wish you a merry Christmas.”  
“Thank you,” she says. Her tone is slightly deflated as if she was expecting something different.   
“You as well.”  
The phone clicks.   
The streets are lined with lights, and red ribbons. The snow has started, the sidewalks are lined in white and shimmer. At night, the stores and boutiques light up the world. It is a wonderful time. to be alive.  
“Do you think two people that are the same can fall in love?” I ask Nate as he walks me home from his job. He is a cook, a chef apprentice. A big name recognized cordon blue restaurant in mid-town Manhattan. He has big aspirations, wants to go to Paris.  
“Like us?” he says.  
“No, we’re not the same,” I say irritated.  
“What do you mean?”  
“like two boys or two girls,” I say. I don’t know why I ask him.  
“Like homosexuals?” he asks. It sounds so disdainful when he puts it like that.  
“No, like two humans that love each other, “I clarify.  
“I suppose,” he says shrugging, “who cares?”  
“No one, I suppose.”

I haven’t heard from her, but I can’t stop thinking about her. My friend invites me to submit a few photographs for the New York Times, it’s a big deal.  
“I’m not good,” I say.  
“Then they won’t call you, you’ve got nothing to lose.”  
Maybe it’s the holiday music playing non-stop at work that inspires me to hope. I submit them.  
She shows up a day after Christmas, “merry Christmas.”  
She’s wearing a black slim two-piece suit. A red coat with pinstripes and black heels with red tip. It is the image of holiday perfection. I am wearing a tweed skirt and a simple white shirt. She’s out of my league. I don’t even think I play the same sport. Are we playing?  
“I have a gift for you,” she offers and hands me a carefully wrapped package. It’s violet wrapping paper. It is a beautiful coat, the most beautiful coat I’ve ever seen, or owned.   
“It’s beautiful, but I can’t….” I start.   
“Nonsense, I can’t return it,” she states.  
“It’s probably more that I make in a year,” I say again.  
“Good thing you are not paying, now will you invite me in?”  
I realize she’s still standing outside. My tree is still up, she looks at it. Now I’m sure a smile plays on her lips.   
“Would you like some wine?”  
She nods, and while I pour she looks at the photographs on the wall.   
“The one from the house?”   
I nod, ‘I should have asked.”  
I feel as if she’s going to take it back.  
“don’t. I hate people who ask for permission.”  
“It’s not that great,” I continue.  
“I like it, I like it a lot. Maybe you should make me a copy.”  
“I will,” I say and hand her the glass of wine.  
Her hand lingers on mine, she looks me up and down and in a very low -octave whispers, “when?”  
I have to take a moment to catch my breath, there is a fire in me like I never feel with Nate. I let go of her hand.   
“Next week,” I stammer.  
“Let’s go up on the roof, I want to see the city.”  
I nod. She grabs my hand as we go up the stairs.   
“Won’t you come with me on New Year’s?” she asks.  
She’s close, so close. I nod.  
“I would love to.”  
She’s so close I can smell Givenchy on her. I can smell apples on her hair, I can smell wine on her breath.  
“Do it,” she whispers.   
We are both so aware as I reach in, the roof is dark. Every window still has holiday lights on. They fickler on and off. It is just like every romantic moment in the movies. I meet her halfway, and it is only for a moment. A brief moment that we forget where we stand. Her lips are soft and her hands for a single instant reached for my waist. We don’t say a single thing about it.   
She leaves, I turn on the lights on my tree and neatly pen on my calendar the time I have to meet her for New Year’s eve.


	3. Countdown

Nate rolls around during the proceeding days, “Hey Andrea are you excited about our trip?”  
“our trip?” I ask momentarily confused.  
“Europe? Summer?” he asks.  
I remember, he’s been talking and talking about going to Europe. The grand tour, he has explained. Every young American who wants to be somebody has to do it, has to go explore the world. He has been saving money for the past two years, since I know him. When he graduates from college this year, he wants us to go. We will start in London, Paris and Italy and if we have enough money Germany too. I have gone along with it, but I have never been sure.   
“That’s your trip,” I say.  
“What do you mean, we’ve been planning this…”  
“Maybe Nate,” I say as I reach my work.  
“We can talk about it later,” he offers.  
“Okay, I say.”   
He rolls his bike to the other side and turns to wave, “we can talk about it at New Year’s, Ma is very excited that you are coming.”  
“Oh,” I say, “I’m not.”  
“What do you mean? She made you a dress, the one with the white pearly fabric you liked last time. She even bought champagne.”  
“I have another engagement,” I say.  
“you? Since when do you have engagements?”  
I look annoyed, “Nate, I’m going out with a friend okay?”  
“Okay,” he seems defeated and I feel bad knowing his mother has gone to all that trouble.  
“Who is it?”  
“A friend,” I say.  
“I want to know you’re safe. I care about you Andy,” he coos. He calls me Andy from time to time, when he’s trying to make a point or make me feel guilty.  
“I can take care of myself,” I say.  
“Can I drop you off to meet your friend?” he asks.  
I nod, I don’t know why I nod but I do. I let him care, because it feels good to be flattered. I let him because I really don’t care all that matters is that I’m going to see Miranda. I am going to see her for New Years and spend time with her.

New Year’s Eve falls on a Friday that year, and Nate walks me to the corner of my apartments where Miranda said she’d pick me up. She drives a black Mercedes Benz, and she’s got on a beautiful fur coat, the color of camel’s hair and she’s got on a dark burgundy hat and matching leather gloves.   
“Hello Andrea,” she smiles. She doesn’t get out of the car she opens the door to the passenger side.   
“And you must be Nate,” she guesses correctly. Nate looks at me part because he’s glad I’ve talked about him and part because he’s surprised I have a friend like Miranda.  
“Yes, I’m Nate and you are?”  
“Miranda Priestly,” she says and waves at me to come in.  
“Andrea talks about you all the time, I promise to keep her safe,” she continues.  
“Thank you, Happy New Year” he says and backs away as he door closes and Miranda drives off without looking back.  
“How did I do?” she asks as she lights a cigarette and inhales.  
“Mmhh?” I ask. I’m not sure what she’s talking about.  
“Nate, he seems like a good boy. Do you love him?”  
The question is valid, but all I can think about is the kiss on my rooftop.  
I shrug.   
“He wants to go to Europe,” I say and I don’t know if that answers her question but she stills and the rest of the ride is very quiet.  
We drive home to her beautiful Manhattan townhome. It’s decorated in white lights and the tree still flickers.   
“It’s just the two of us tonight, I hope you don’t mind,” she says slamming the door of the car.  
“No, of course not,” I say.  
“I usually give the maids the day off after they cook dinner and well with the divorce he took the girls to spend the holiday with their grandmother up in DC.”  
“Oh,” I say. The house lights up as soon as we enter. It looks beautiful in all its decorated splendor.  
“This house is beautiful,” I say and she laughs softly.  
“You think so?”   
I nod.  
“We bought it when we got married,” there is a pause in her chatter and she purses her lips slightly.  
I look at her and wonder what happened.  
“It was such a long time ago,” she finishes.  
“Did you love him?’ I ask.  
She’s moved to the bar to hand me a glass of whiskey. I finish taking of my coat. There is an electricity that roams around us. We want to say something but we don’t. I want to ask her everything about her life, I want to know if she loved her husband, I want to know why she has asked me over, why she wants to be my friend, I want to ask if she has done this before.  
Her ocean blue eyes darken, they look intently at me while she pretends to drink from the smooth glass of whiskey. It’s got straight lines and a monogram.   
“No, Yes … I thought I did. He thought it would work…” she says and I don’t completely understand.  
“Dinner?” she asks. It’s very early only 8 in the evening. We have four hours ahead until the stroke of midnight. Four hours upon which I can learn about her, or her about me.   
She puts on an apron and take of her heels. It cuts her a few inches of her height and I stand taller as she puts the roast in the oven and mixes the salad.   
“I would have thought you went to a fancy ball somewhere,” I say and she nods.  
“I used to,” she starts. She’s poured another glass of whiskey. I’m a lightweight, I still have the same one.  
“I used to go all the time, that is where I met Stephan. He worked for my father,” she sets two plate settings on the dinner table.  
“Bring the food over, won’t you?” she asks.  
I take the salad and the mashed potatoes in my hands. She’s a perfectionist. She measures the distance between the cutlery and the edge of the table. I remember reading about that for fancy dinner somewhere in a good housekeeping magazine.   
I go back for the roast and bread while she finishes.  
“So, Andrea, how is the journalism going?” she asks as we sit down.  
“Good, maybe I can write a story about you and how to set perfect tables.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous Andrea, every well brought up little girl knows how to do that,” she jokes.  
“I didn’t,” I say.  
She doesn’t retract from what she says, “maybe it was better. No one to force you to do things.”  
“When do you get your fathers editorial back?” I ask.  
“It’s always been mine, I just get to sit in the board chair,” she says and opens a bottle of wine.  
Dinner goes down perfect smooth, we continue to talk back and forth about ourselves in a way where neither fully explains.  
After about two hours we stand up and realize there is only one hour left for midnight.   
“What do you usually wish for on this day?” she asks.  
“Oh, I don’t usually wish,” I say and it’s the honest truth. She looks at me like I have said the sweetest thing ever and she pulls me out onto the balcony.  
“do you like fireworks?” she asks again.  
“I do,” I say. I can detect a slight slur in her words. She’s had a lot to drink. She’s leaning on the side of the door.   
“You can see fireworks from here,” she offers and after a few quiet moments she reaches out for my hand. We stay like for a long time, the minutes tick away. My breath comes out in fog from the December temperatures but I don’t mind them. I am in love with this moment.   
“Let’s start the countdown,” she’s looking at the watch on her hand. The champagne has been opened and she hands me a glass.   
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two … one,” she says and instead of yelling it like people often do she almost whispers it.   
“Happy New Year,” she says straight into my ear. It lingers, her face next to mine, her perfume again, the tip of her rolls that touch my cheeks. She pulls back slowly from the hug, I want to turn sideways and kiss her before her face pulls away more. Her hand stayed on the sides of my shoulders and she gives me a kiss on the cheek.   
“Happy New Year, Miranda,” I say it back with the same intensity she did.  
“thank you for being here,” she says again and drinks her glass as we toast to a new year, a new day, a new something between us. We both can feel it, I know it. But how do we act upon it? How do I reach out and tell her that I like her, that I want to spend every New Years for the rest of my life with her? That is unheard of. And how does she come out and tell me that she likes me. What do we do with that information.  
We go inside the house and sit on the couch.   
“Are you tired?” she asks.  
I shake my head, and suddenly she’s got her hand on my thigh.   
“Come on I’ll take you to bed,” she smiles. I take her hand and follow her up the stairs. She shows me a guest room, with a large bed and a draping duvet.   
“You can stay in here for tonight,” she offers.  
“Will you stay with me?” I ask. I don’t know where the courage came from.  
She looks intently at me her eyes try to focus on mine and she nods.   
She pulls out a pair of pajamas from a drawer and tells me to put them on. She carefully unpins her hat and her hairdo falls down. She does all this not facing me while I put on my sleepwear.  
Once I do, I climb into bed as she lays down next to me in her brandy colored dress. It’s loose enough to not be uncomfortable. She lays atop the duvet resting her head on her left hand. She’s propping her body up as I look at her from my pillow.   
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.  
I feel my eyes closing and I feel the tip of her free hand contour my face. My eyes snap open.   
“I’m thinking…” she stops and nods slightly, “That I’ll take you to Europe.”


	4. Piano Forte

The rain was falling softly against the window the following morning. The moment where I opened my eyes was disconcerting, this wasn’t my bed, and this wasn’t my clothes, and these were definitely not my bedsheets. They were dark purple and the softest ones I’ve ever touched. They almost felt like silk, warm against my skin. I was alone and then I remembered it was a brand new year and I had fallen asleep in Miranda’s house.

Outside the bedroom laughter cascaded into my door, the laughter of two women sharing a joke.  
“Come out don’t you want to play in the rain?” came a voice she didn’t recognize.   
Then laughter filled the silence again, Miranda’s laughter.   
“You’ve used that line before,” she yelled at the unidentified woman.  
“And I seem to remember you liked it,” came the quip.  
Andrea put on the first slippers she found and walked out into the hall without a robe. Miranda was leaning on the veranda, there was soft rain falling but she was inside the covered part. Out on the street was a woman with short brown hair and large green eyes. She was dressed in a yellow and black checkered suit and her hair was styled in waves. She was pretty enough but not gorgeous, and she leaned against a blue and grey Chrysler.   
Miranda turned to look at Andrea and for a moment the gaze seemed to focus solely on her, as if the woman outside was insignificant.   
“Good morning, Andrea,” she drawled out.  
“Miranda,” she said as blue eyes looked at her and a pale hand extended out to her. She almost leaped to her, and she stood motionless still holding her hand as the woman leaning on the car inspected her.   
“Amy, this is Andrea,” Miranda introduced her.  
“Andrea this is Amy, my best and probably only friend. She smiled as she said that and then looking at the brunette outside said, “now come on inside or you’ll freeze to death.  
The brunette did come inside and Andrea tried to get dressed to leave.   
“I don’t want to interrupt …”  
“nonsense,” besides I can’t send you home with the same clothes.   
Amy was funny but there was something that didn’t fit with Andrea. She felt jealousy, the way Miranda and Amy talked, their anecdotes, the way Amy looked at the older woman. She knew she was being silly, aside from her understanding of the events nothing had happened between Miranda and her. Nonetheless she didn’t like this woman, and she was glad later that afternoon when she said, “I’ve got to be downtown by 4, I’ll leave you two now.”  
Miranda walked her to the door and still in her robe she closed it behind her and leaned against the door.  
“Now, where we?” she asked Andrea.   
“Who’s Amy?” Andrea asked and Miranda’s smile faltered.   
“What do you mean?” she asked.  
“Who is she to you?”  
Miranda seemed confused, she walked away from the door and up the stairs.   
“I think I have the perfect dress for you, do you want to stay for dinner?”  
“Miranda,” Andrea asks. It’s odd that she’s asking. It seems like something completely out of place. They’ve shared a kiss, an odd, rooftop kiss, and then they acted like it never happened. Miranda didn’t answer, she left Andrea talking to herself in the foyer.   
Andrea thought of walking out, but she was still in her sleepwear and deep inside she knew she could not leave Miranda. So she trailed after her.  
“She’s a friend,” she hears as she’s met with Miranda shoving a palazzo pants and a bow blouse in her face.  
“Put these on,” she says.  
Andrea takes the clothes from her hands and she misses the Miranda from yesterday. The soft -spoken lady that talked about Europe.  
“Andrea…” she says as she shows her the ensuite bathroom to change.  
“You shouldn’t be upset, Amy and I …”  
There is was ‘Amy and I’.  
“We were over a long time ago, years ago, long before my twins were born and I married their father. We were teenagers then. We were young and it didn’t last more than a summer. Andrea believes her, but she also wonders how many there have been between Amy and herself. She steps out in the clothes Miranda had handed her. The older socialite smiles, “you look beautiful.”  
Andrea inhales, she has a hard time breathing because the way Miranda is looking at her takes her breath away. She’ll have to ask her, at some point but not today. When Andrea returns home, she’s got two things with her. A night sharing her bed with Miranda, as chaste as a night could be; and an explanation about a past relationship. What does that mean?

“I thought you would be home yesterday,” Nate asks as he finds her on her way to work.  
“I was,” Andrea answers.   
“I went over in the morning, your landlady said you were spending the night with family?”  
“Yeah,” she answered.  
“So, this woman is family now?”   
Andrea shrugs. “I’m late for work.”  
“Give you a ride?” he offers.  
She nods. She climbs on the back of his bike and holds on to him. She arrives faster and her hands don’t freeze, but her heart flutters every time she thinks of Miranda. She’s sure this is all going to end very wrong but it’s too late, she feels. She feels something she has never felt before for Miranda.  
Miranda calls again a week later, “Andrea, … I’ve missed you.”  
“Miranda,” she’s about to say she has missed her too but her landlady is standing behind her.  
“How is the family,” she asks instead.  
Miranda doesn’t answer, there is a hitch of breath, “will you be home tomorrow?”  
“Yes,” is the reply and that is the end of the conversation.  
Andrea stands there for a few more minutes, with a dead dial-tone and a few words answered into the silence of the other end.  
“Do you have my copy?” is the first thing Miranda asks.  
Andrea shakes her head, “I forgot.”  
“Mmmmhhh,” Miranda walks down her apartment slowly.  
“But I do have a gift for you.” It is a neatly wrapped vinyl record. It is a piano rendition of the holiday song she played for her.  
“It’s beautiful,” the older lady says.  
“Can we listen to it?”   
“ I don’t have a …” she’s about to say she doesn’t have a record player but the other woman interrupts.  
“Tomorrow, my house. I’m celebrating …”  
she doesn’t tell her what she is celebrating and Andrea doesn’t dare to ask. She knows it’s a crush, she knows Miranda would never take someone like her seriously but then she’s not sure.  
Miranda’s townhome is empty again and the song is already playing when Andrea gets there.  
They talk about a few things and the nothing and the next thing she knows is she’s asking what they are celebrating.  
Miranda smiles, “My divorce.”  
“Is it final?”  
“it will be, in one month.”  
“I don’t know what to say,” Andrea asks.  
“Say you’ll go with me on a trip, I want to get as far away as I can.”  
“And your daughters?”  
“He has them for now, but they will be home when everything is finalized. “  
Andrea blinks.  
“Now how about that trip?”   
Andrea nods, “I would love to.”


	5. the calls you take

She doesn’t know how to look at him, her deep brown eyes seek somewhere to look. She feels guilt, it’s small, like a worm trying to hide from the sun, in a small hole upon the dirt. That is the kind of guilt she feels, it is familiar to shame. She looks at him, her eyes dart back and forth for a brief moment between his glowing grey orbs. He has beautiful eyes, he really does. They are large and expressive, outlined with dark eyelashes that beat hers. His eyes are off grey, almost silver and they sparkle. She looks away to the suitcase lying on the bed. She feels the guilt of his hurt erode her from inside. She feels it but she also feels a combating feeling. She feels the glory of possibilities, of new beginnings of love at the same time. She feels guilt and happiness, she feels sadness and excitement. She wants to apologize and say she’s not sorry. She wants to tell him about Miranda, Nate is her best friend. The feelings overwhelm her, she is so afraid. She is insecure, insecure of what she’s about to do, of what she is doing, of this adventure, of something so new, so shamed, so fragile, so wrong …. And so right. She has no one to share this with. She is alone, in her partnership with Miranda.  
“What are you going to do with this apartment?” he asks.  
She doesn’t know. She packs a few sweaters and a few pants, and a dress.  
“where are you going?” he asks. He is mad, she knows it. She can see the vein on his forehead pop up, his eyes look steadily at her. His left hand is knotted into a fist and the other one is held tight to his leg. He is wearing the ugly holiday sweater she bought him. His hair is longer than before, curling at the bottom. He doesn’t want to lose her. Andrea is the one. He loves her, he has always loved her. Everything he has done in the past two years is to please her, to save money, to have a future to offer her. He wants to marry her, after he finishes law school. He wants to buy her a beautiful home in upper Manhattan and take her out of suburbia. He wants to have a family, kids, he wants everything with her. Why can’t she see that?  
“Andrea, I love you,” he says and he wishes the severity of his words could change the outcome of the story.  
“I know,” she answers, “but I’m not sure.”  
“She’s a crush,” he murmurs loudly.  
He knows, she hasn’t told him. She hasn’t told him outright but he knows. It isn’t hard to see. The change in her. It isn’t hard to see that Miranda wanted more than friendship. It isn’t hard to see that they are somehow connected by a thread.  
“she’s going to use you. What are you going to do when she’s tired of you huh?”  
Andrea shakes her head, “leave me alone, we’re just going on vacation.”  
“And out trip?” he asks.  
The phone rings. He looks at her. There is a challenge in his gaze. They are having a conversation.  
“If you answer that phone call, it means it is more important than me,” he warns.  
“What if it’s important?” she asks. There is doubt in her eyes again. She’s nervous, all the decisions in the world are pending on this moment. On that high- pitched ring of the white corner phone that she had just installed in her room. Her eyes show those insecurities she felt before, it comes back. It comes back awash, like waves on the shore.  
“What if it’s …” her words trail of.  
“Her,” he finishes for her.  
She nods.  
“You are in a relationship with the person whose calls you always take,” he says.  
She walks to the phone. “Forget about our trip, we’ll see what happens when you come crawling back to me!”  
His words sting, they hurt, she’s partly to blame. Still she answers, “Miranda?”  
She answers because there is something higher in her diamond blue eyes, something in the softness of her voice and the tenderness of her hands. There is something that moves her soul, like no one else has done.  
“Darling, are you almost ready?”  
Andrea nods, Nate has left. No one is watching. She hangs up after getting details from the older woman and as she puts the receiver down gently she whispers, “I love you.”


	6. Kansas

It’s mid- February and there is still snow on the ground of the first cities they hit. Miranda can’t leave the country, she can’t leave the country with another woman, her husband has slapped her with a custody lawsuit. The lawsuit charges her with immorality, a common denominator for anything not approved by society. If it’s not understood by society, then it’s catapulted to immoral, outcast. Miranda for all her careful bidding, had been exposed by the very man who said he’d take care of her. She could lose the twins and she could lose the seat as chairman at the publisher. The company would still be hers but the decisions would be someone else’s and she’d be in the same position she had been all her life. Still there was nothing she could but let her lawyers fight the fight.   
“Let’s go to Hollywood,” she told Andrea and the adoring brunette nodded.   
“Let’s,” was the whispered answered.   
They were just friends again, unspoken friends, unspoken everything. The magic of the world was in their eyes, every time they looked each other in the eyes. There was an invisible thread tying them together, they knew it. Each knew it in secret but the world demanded that they keep quiet for the sake of morality.  
They get separate rooms, and have breakfast at the tiny café across the street. It has Formica tables and cheap café, but they laughed over silly things, they ate waffles with too much syrup and then they set of to the next snowy town. It was simple, there was no big decision to be made, Andrea didn’t ask complex questions and Miranda forgot for those moments the turmoil back home. When they made Chicago, they finally found a decent hotel.   
“Should I make dinner reservations for you?’ the clerk asked.  
They looked at each other and nodded. When the time for dinner came they dressed up and walked to the restaurant, “what room number?”  
Miranda doubts for a second, “402B” Andrea answers for her.  
“You should be my assistant Andrea,” the older woman smiles as they sit for soup.   
Andrea stares at her, she stares at her all for the whole duration of dinner.   
“You look good in that dress,” she finally says breaking the awkwardness of the moment.  
Miranda smiles, “I do?”  
Andrea nods.  
“Nonsense, I probably look a fright,” she says.  
Andréa shakes her head, sipping champagne. “I wish I had my camera it would be a perfect picture.”  
Miranda blushes, Miranda is not one to blush. Andrea makes her feel giddy, like she’s 16 again. There is something strange about this young woman, she wants to keep telling herself that there is nothing between them, there can’t be. She has to keep her twins and her company, it’s all too important to fling away on a passing romance.  
Kansas is an interesting stop, there is nothing but fields of wheat and sunflowers. This is America at its finest, farmers and cattle headers, this is the bread and butter of America. They drive in silence and thoughts, with the backdrop of jazz streaming from the car stereo. Andrea begs for donuts at the gas station and when they finally stop for the night at a nearby hotel the front desk announces, “we only have the presidential suite available.”  
“It’s February, who travels in this month?” Miranda asks annoyed.  
“We can go find another hotel,” Andrea starts.  
Miranda is about to say, they should but the words die on her lips, “but we should just take this one. It is the only one after all.”  
There is only one thing Miranda can think of as she hands the lady the money and her information, she’s thinking of Andrea in her bed. She takes a deep breath, this isn’t what she’s thinking.   
“Let me do your makeup,” Miranda asks. They have all night and she’s not sleepy at all.  
“Why, you don’t like it?” Andrea banters back.  
“I think you could use some more cerulean eyeshadow, I want to make you look even more beautiful,” Miranda concedes.  
“You think I’m beautiful?”  
“Is that a yes,” she asks.  
Andrea nods, they are so close. Every time Miranda leans in to highlight or line her eyes, she can hear her breath hitch, she can feel her heart beat, she can smell Andrea’s perfume.   
“What perfume are you wearing?” she asks.  
Andrea retrieves it shyly. She dot’s it on Miranda’s wrist.  
“it smells divine,” the publisher says.  
“Mmmmhhh” Andrea murmurs.   
“I usually spend all the snowy nights alone,” Miranda says.  
“I do to,” Andréa echoes.  
The air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Andrea is only wearing a checked robe, and Miranda wears a grey silk one.   
“But you’re not alone today,” she says as they find hold their breaths for a moment, sitting on the floor makeup around them.  
Miranda bends in to kiss Andrea, it’s just like heaven.   
“My angel,” she says as Andrea deepens the kiss.  
They rise in tandem, and Miranda pulls the sash to her robe to reveal an expanse of peachy white skin. Andrea can’t help but let her arms roam over perfection. The flat abdomen, the slight curves, the breasts that peak out from under the robe. She feels liquid at the core of her legs, she’s never felt this before, not even for Nate.  
“make love to me,” Andrea whispers into Miranda’s ears.   
Miranda proceeds to repeat the same motion on Andrea’s robe, she pulls the sash to reveal Andrea wearing absolutely nothing.   
“I want you,” she tells Andrea and no one in particular at the same time.


	7. Please don't be angry

Miranda woke up first, she traced the lines of Andrea’s face with her eyes. Andrea felt her gaze, her feather touch as she moved a stay hair from the brunette’s face. She felt the older woman roll out of bed and whisper as she hovered above her, “you are so beautiful, like an angel flung out of space.”  
She felt her walk to the large window and heard her sigh. She wanted this moment to last forever, just the two of them in this four walls of this hotel.  
“What town is this,” the sleepy younger woman asked opening her eyes.  
“Kansas City,” Miranda answered slowly in her continental accent.  
“how ironic,” Andrea said.  
“Like wicked witches and yellow brick roads?” Miranda said and she had read her young lover’s mind.  
“Yes, just like that.”  
The got up because there was no hurry to go anywhere, on a sense of duty that they should get to Hollywood.  
Kansas was indeed ironic, not because the two women had shared a bed, a dream, a confession. It was ironic because here Miranda received a telegram that her husband had proof of her immorality. It would be used as evidence, unless she went home. It demanded that Miranda not see Andrea anymore, or any other women. It demanded that she go home with her husband, it demanded more than Miranda wanted to give. It demanded the constrictions of society, it demanded that everyone fit into a box designed by people a lot time ago. It demanded morality, to be able to give freedom. It was a paradox, that Miranda could do nothing against. She could not fight the institution and if she did, if she tried she could lose all her father had built.

She didn’t tell Andrea, instead they had coffee. They had bad coffee at the hotel’s lobby and a blueberry -muffin. Miranda hated bad coffee and blueberry just like she hated freesias, but today she had so much more to worry about.  
“Something is wrong,” Andreas assumes halfway to Pratt.  
“I’m just tired,” Miranda answers the question.  
“mmhh, we could have stayed two days in Kansas.  
“No, not Kansas.”  
There is finite tone to the elegant woman’s words and the young want-to-be reporter settles into silence. She wants to both hear Miranda talk, know everything about her and also ride in silence because it’s magical. By the time they get to Pratt Miranda seems worried.  
“Tell me what’s wrong?” Andrea asks again, this time it’s a demand.  
“nothing,” Miranda remarks again, raising her eyebrow and parking at a motel.  
“Is that how this is going to go?” Andreas asks.  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, let’s get a room.”  
Andrea is annoyed, she sits in the far corner bed. It’s a small room, a medium rated hotel, a one night kind of thing.  
“You don’t have to sit all the way over there,” Miranda smiles after an awkwardly quiet dinner.  
“I just don’t know…” Andrea states, she’s conflicted. Miranda pats the bed, signals for her to come over.  
Andrea wavers, her chocolate pools shine, there are tears that want to come on down. She agreed, walks over slowly in her long skirt and her plaid shirt.  
“Miranda, I …” she’s going to say she loves her. She’s going to say that and Miranda know it. Perhaps it’s on purpose when she kisses her and they softly fall back on the bed.

When Andrea wakes up to the harsh light of an open window, Amy is the one sitting in the bed across from her.  
“Where is Miranda?” Andrea asks, but she knows the answer.  
“She went’ home,” Amy is draped in a fur coat and tweed pants.  
“Is she coming back ?”  
Amy shakes her head, “no.”  
Andrea sighs and rolls onto her back. Her hair is mussed and she’s naked underneath.  
“She asked me to drive you home, and give you this,” Amy gets up and drops a letter at the foot of the bed.  
“I’ll wait for you to get ready, outside.”  
Andrea feels like a scolded child, like she had been caught doing something bad. She fells tears sting. She feels them roll down her face. She feels anger burn inside her, anger for Miranda, for Amy. She gets dressed and saves the letter for last.

“My dear Andrea,” the letter starts.

“Perhaps you won’t understand this now, perhaps it’s too much too soon. Perhaps you won’t forgive me, you’re young and for you everything is easy. You seek resolutions and answers but you will understand this someday. Please don’t be angry,”

Miranda Priestly.

She read and reread the letter, there is no words, no inclination that they will meet again. The tears fall again, her mascara be dammed. She can’t believe this. She understands completely, that Miranda must fight for her daughters. She understands, she does’ yet her hear is broken all the same.

“Ready?” Amy asks.  
She is. She’s ready.  
Perhaps it was meant to make her grow up, meeting Miranda. She is now sure of what she wants. She knows she won’t settle for anything less than the love she feels for Miranda. She knows she wants to have a career, and she knows she will always remember this.

“She like you a lot, you know?” Amy declares after driving about an hour is silence.  
“I can see that,” Andrea deadpans.  
“She has to sort her life out,” Amy declares.  
“She didn’t have to leave like this, I would have understood. I would have waited,” Andrea sais and her voice breaks. She looks toward the window, the great planes with no snow now. How different a few days can make everything look.  
“I understand,” Amy says.  
They arrive in less than a day, straight driving and no overnights makes all the difference.  
“Keep in touch, “Amy smiles, “I think you’re going to be just fine.”  
Andrea smiles back, It’s different now. Amy is no longer a cause of jealousy, she’s in the same club. She is now the only memory of what her and Miranda had, she’s a friend of a friend and on can always keep in touch with those.

She does, she keeps in touch with Amy, here and there they grad lunch. Amy sent her a few postcards from her vacation and Andrea gets a call from the New York Times. She has a busy year, it flashes right before her eyes. She’s doing good work at the New York times, she’s got a few good friends, and there isn’t a day that she doesn’t’ think of her. 

“Tell me how she is?” Miranda asks Amy here and there. Like sprinkled questions through the year. Amy always shakes her head, “She’s fine, Miranda.”  
Amy likes Andrea, she’s young, young for her friend; but she’s mature and sensible. Andrea is smart and beautiful, she’s a strong woman that will survive anything. She want’s nothing more than for Andrea to be successful and move on. She refuses to be the in between them, the common threat, that will keep them pinning for each other without reality.  
“Tell me, has she asked about me?”  
“Miranda, I can’t tell you that,”  
They sit in a book nook in the house that Miranda lives in. The townhome overlooking the Upper East side.  
“I love her, Amy,” Miranda blurts and it’s the first time she says it out loud.  
Amy doesn’t know what to say, she knows it. She has known it. It was more than an affair, it was love. She can’t say it hurts her slightly, in some way.  
“Then you have to decide.”

The words hang like mist over Miranda for the remaining of that day. She thinks about them every time her husband calls and berates her, and when he comes over so she could she the twins and clasps her arm and asks her to come back home.  
“You’re my wife!” he demands.  
“We are divorcing,” he clamors.  
“I don’t know why I married someone like you!” he often ends up saying, shaking his head as she declines his advances.  
“I fucking loved you,” he yells after he has put the twins in the car and then slams the door to drive away.  
She loves her daughters more than anything, more than life itself, but she can’t help but wonder if in the end it will all cause more harm than good.

“I’m going to sell the house,” she explains to Amy. They sit in the veranda, sipping champagne. The beautiful foliage of the East Coast has begun to fall, it colors the house and the crisp air swirls the leaves.  
“I’m going to let him have the girls,” she continues.  
“But Miranda,” Amy exclaims.  
“I will get visits, and I will always be there for them. I can’t do it Amy. I can’t hide under a pretense forever.”  
Amy raises her eyebrows and reaches across the table to console her long-time friend.  
“And her?”  
The publisher evades the question, “ I have my first board meeting tomorrow, I get to win at least one battle.”  
“They won’t want you if you let the divorce go through,” Amy says.  
“I don’t care, this isn’t my father’s company, it isn’t my husband’s company anymore, this is my company. I am the head of that board and who ever does not want to work for me probably should not be there.”  
Amy smiles, this is the Miranda she remembers. The young intrepid woman, the go getter, overachiever, admirer of beauty. Yes this is her.

“You know, she says. Andrea works at the New York Times now …. “


	8. HOPE, I LIVE ON HOPE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this ending chapter. A happier ending than the story it is cross-covered with, but just as subtle.  
> comments and feedback welcomed!

Perhaps we’re not quick enough to count our blessings. We don’t stand still enough to see how lucky we are. As Andrea’s mother would often say, we forget to look down and see how much more we have than others. We always want more, more money, more prestige, a better home, a better family, a better love, a trouble- free love, a perfect love. Miranda had a lot of things in life, she had been born into wealth, she had never known poverty or hunger. She had adoring parents and she had found a sister and best friend in Amy. Even though it was hard to see it now, she had at some point loved Stephan or thought she did. She had been happy with him, she had been happy when the twins came. She had a lot of blessings and perhaps she had never stopped to count them.  
She was stopping now, she looked in the mirror before exiting the house. She had on a box hat pale white paired with a pale white and tan suit. It said elegance but it also screamed independence. It was paired with a mink wrap and red lips. The last trial day for the custody of her daughters and the divorce was in a few hours. She was going to choose her happiness. She knew it meant giving up the twins except for weekend visits, she knew it meant selling the house, she knew it meant risking it all for a possibility. A possibility that may or may not still be waiting for her; Nevertheless, she felt free and empowered. It had been a few weeks since she officially took the chair of her father’s publishing empire and all but one member of the board had stayed on. The newfound CEO had big plans for the empire that had been by default passed on to her. She felt happy to let the house go, and she had bought a flat in downtown New York. Even if this story did not end in perfection, even if she could not have it all; she had to admit she had a lot more than many. She had to believe that it was time to stop and count her blessings.  
As if on cue the first snow of the year fell upon the city that never sleeps and she smiled.  
“I will relinquish the custody battle,” she said standing up and speaking to the judge.  
“No, Miranda that’s not…” her lawyer put a hand upon her arm trying to stop her.  
“It’s okay,” she looked down at the petrified man in glasses and expensive suit. She then looked squarely at Stephan and his lawyer, “we had good years, right?”  
He was caught off guard by his wife by all legal measures.  
“Yes,” he said.  
“I don’t want to mar those years more, I don’t want to drag my daughters through this and I don’t want to live my life faking something I’m not.”  
The air stilled. The four men present in the room looked uncomfortable, four high stakes lawyers, some of the best and most wealthy men in Manhattan didn’t know where to look at the words of this thin, petite woman.  
She eyed Stephan directly, “you can have them, I grant you full custody,” her voice cracked and a few spare tears made their appearance.  
“I want to see them weekends, I want one holiday a year and I want you to speak to them about our good times and how much I love them. You win, this society makes you the winner,” she bit her lip. Her voice was firm and demanding, her blue eyes hard like a diamond. She was a diamond, unbreakable.  
“Do you agree?” The men nodded.  
“Because that is my final offer, that is all I have,” she said.  
She grabbed her clutch and made her way to the door, “I’ll let my lawyer draft up the new agreement. I will sign it.”  
She swirled out of the room in a trace of perfume and shock.  
“Well, gentlemen … I believe I am no longer needed,” the judge stood up and walked out behind the publisher.

That same week she put the house up for sale, and she bought an apartment nearby. That same week she signed the divorce and custody agreement and she saw her daughters. The visits were supervised but she could take them to lunch and the one holiday, a year she got was for a full week, overnight. That would have to be enough, that would do for now.  
One could almost say Miranda was content with everything. She had done everything that people had told her she could not do. She had gotten a divorce, she had taken over her father’s company, she had become free. The one missing piece was Andrea, she wasn’t sure Andrea would still want her. She wasn’t sure but she had to try.  
So, she did the one thing she was good at, she sent her a dinner invitation.

“you got a letter, delivered,” a confused mailroom attendant said to Andrea.  
“I did?” she looked at the letter, no sender.  
“Yep, gloved manservant and all?” the young man said more to himself than anyone.  
“Thank you,” the young brunette said.

“My dear Andrea,” the letter began.

“I believe there are many explanations owed.  
I was hoping you’d meet me for dinner at the Ritz downtown.  
I’ll be waiting,

 

Miranda Priestly,”

Andrea took a deep breath. It had been a year. She had told herself that she would never see the woman again. She had cried her tears, steeled herself for a life without the older woman. She had patched her heart with tape and glue, she had found solace in her career. She had not hoped. She had not asked Amy about Miranda. She had done good. What did Miranda want now? She had no more gloves of her to return.  
She would not go.

She went, of course she went. She still felt something unexplained for the mercurial woman. She wanted to hear her voice, to know she was good. She told herself she had to go, if for nothing more than closure.  
The older woman was already there.  
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” the publisher almost whispered.  
“You look beautiful, maybe it did you good to be apart from me,” she smiled. It was meant as a joke but it hurt both of them.  
“Stop it, of course not,” Andrea said.  
“I hear you work at the New York times now?”  
Andrea nodded, “that’s where you sent the letter.”  
“Right,” the elegant silver haired woman nodded.  
“Andrea,” she began but the budding journalist caught her off.  
“have you seen the girls?” she asked.  
Miranda nodded, “here and there. Yes, they are good. I finished my divorce.”  
They both nod, they order tea and nothing more.

Miranda can tell this is not going to be the dinner she had wanted.  
“I heard,” the brunette smiled.  
“I work at my father’s company now...well I guess it’s my company now. I took over the board, can you believe it?”  
“Of course, I can,” Andrea answers, “you’re magnificent.”  
She lets too much be known in that sentence.  
If she was going to do it at all she was going to do it now. She had to tell the brunette how she felt, how she needed her, how she had given everything up for her. She thought it better, she could not put that weight upon the younger woman’s shoulders. She did not want to pressure her. If she still loved her, she would forgive her.

“I moved to a new apartment, It is beautiful, has the best view of the city. I find it so big, it’s very big. I was wondering maybe you’d want to move in with me? It would be close to the paper. I don’t know if you’d want that, perhaps not?” the question turns into a ramble. Miranda never rambles, what is happening to her?  
“Would you?” she asks again at the lack of response from Andrea who simply sips tea.  
“Move in with you? I don’t think so,” she answers.  
Miranda knows the setting was wrong, she hasn’t even explained why she left. She hasn’t said she was sorry.  
“Andrea, I’m sorry about …”  
The brunette puts up her hand, “I understand.”  
“I’m having dinner with my investors at the Perch, if you want to join?” she asks.  
Again, she’s met with a negative.  
“It’s at 9 if you change your mind,” she finishes.  
“I love you,” Miranda spits across the table.  
She raises blue eyes to meet brown orbs. There is a recognizable something there, it’s thirst for one another, it’s lust, and love and sorrow. The emotions swirl in their respective pools before the bond breaks. The invisible thread is about to break.  
“I …” Miranda starts. She’s about to repeat how much she loves the brunette when a man interrupts.  
“Andrea?” he yells from a few feet away.  
“I didn’t see you at work today, coming to the holiday party?” he asks.  
He comes closer, “Hello,” he says shyly.  
“Roger,” Andrea starts, “this is a friend Miranda Priestly. Miranda this is Roger”  
“A pleasure,” she grits and gets up instantly.

“I have to run, I have a meeting with my investors,” Andrea already knows this.  
“Are you sure? You could come too,” the man asks Miranda. She looks stunning, older yes but stunning and the man takes note. He runs her up and down, from the black dress to the fur coat.  
“I’m sure, thank you,” she sets a manicured hand on Andrea’s shoulder as a goodbye.  
“Have fun,” she says to both of them, extends her hand to the young man and repeats, “It’s been a pleasure Roger. Happy holidays.”  
“I’ll grab a cab” the man says to Andrea who is left with an empty table and some luke warm tea.  
The party is just like any other holiday party. It’s a cramped house with eggnog and wine. It’s canapes and a lot of people she didn’t know. She drinks to forget what has just happened, she lets a friend of a friend kiss her and then she pushes him as he tries to touch her. None of it feels right. None of this would ever feel right.  
She makes it to the restaurant a quarter past nine, the snobby host doesn’t want to let her in but she goes in anyway.  
“I’m meeting someone,” she says.  
The room is abuzz with voices, people, servers, champagne being poured. For a second she doubts that she’s doing the right thing. She’s underdressed for a place like this. She should leave … but then she sees Miranda. In the far corner, sitting at a round table, black dress shimmering with the lights, hand in motion, she’s talking. She looks beautiful like she always does, five men sit flabbergasted by her, she’s commanding the table and she can’t even move. She manages to walk closer, coat in hand and that’s when the publisher turns, the right moment, the light hits her eyes, they sparkle like a thousand diamonds. She wishes she had a camera to snap a picture. Miranda smiles, meets her gaze.  
She stands up and instantly five men do too, “gentlemen this is Andrea.”  
She motions for the brunette to sit next to her, “she’s joining us for dinner.”  
That was all that was said, she didn’t explain to them who she was, nothing. Andrea smiled, she liked this. It seemed simple. They could do this.

After dinner the power shifts, Miranda is no longer the publisher but a lover asking forgiveness.  
“I’m glad you came,” she tells Andrea.  
“I love you too,” Andrea counters and they ride in a black car.  
Miranda smiles, “where do you want me to drop you off?”  
“Does your offer still stand?” the brunette quietly adds. There is no need to ask what offer. They both know. Miranda nods and grabs the younger woman’s hand.  
“Then, my answer is yes.”  
It was soft, and it was a start.  
That night reminds the published of New Years a long time ago. It’s a good memory, today is not New Years, it’s still a week until Christmas.  
Andrea lays in Miranda’s bed without words and Miranda lays next to her. She opts to lay on her side, the dress she wears constricting her movements. She rests her head on her left hand and smiles at the brunette who stares back at her.  
“Do we start over?” the younger woman asks.  
“We continue,” Miranda answers. There is a lull in the passive conversation. Miranda seems to be lost in her thoughts for a second.  
“What are you thinking about?” Andrea asks.  
Miranda smiles and traces her young lovers face, “I’m thinking, that I still need to take you to Europe.”  
Andrea laughs softly, that was the last thing she had imagined.  
Miranda produces two envelopes with airline stamps. Andrea sits up halfway in the large bed, “no! you didn’t!”  
“I did, a promise is a promise,” Miranda smiles still laying on her side.  
“How did you know, I’d accept?” Andrea asks setting the tickets aside and bending to softly kiss Miranda. Red lips met rose ones and it was as if the world disappeared behind them.  
“I didn’t know,” she said to the woman who had now curled up to her,” I hoped. I live on hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THAT'S ALL FOLKS! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!


End file.
